Four SSHG Challenge Ficlets
by Harmony Bites
Summary: These four unrelated ficlets were produced as part of a Live Journal meme where I took requests—all asked for SSHG. Stories range from romance to one story close to crackfic.
1. Travel is Broadening

Disclaimer: © 2008 harmony bites. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by J.K.Rowling or any other lawful holder.

Thanks to **Djinn** and **bambu345** for their betas and **lifeasanamazon** for her Britpick. These four unrelated ficlets were produced as part of a Live Journal meme where I took requests—all asked for SSHG. Prompts are at the end of each story.

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**Travel is Broadening**

Hermione found him near the bow of the airship. His back was to her, and he wore the same nondescript black robes of the rest of the Hogwarts' contingent travelling towards Beauxbatons and the latest Triwizard tournament. Yet even in this moonless night obscured by the scuttling clouds, she could recognise him by his silhouette. Just a glance at the way his wide shoulders flared just so in contrast to his waist, the curious stance he always took—feet shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly ahead of the other and inwards towards its mate. From duelling lessons with him, she had learned it was a fighting stance, and that was Severus for you. Six years after the war's end and he'd never relaxed his pose.

She let her feet tread solidly against the wooden planks. Trying to be sneaky around him could cause him to whirl around and draw a wand. Twitchy—that was the only way to describe him even now. He didn't like surprises and she had lobbed him a big one tonight.

When she reached where he stood, she mirrored his stance and gripped the rail, looking down into the black, rolling ocean, swallowing hard. If she kept her eyes down at the deck or straight ahead, she could imagine she was on a treasure galleon of old, except instead of masts and huge square sails, above her lay the massive gas-filled blimp. She hated flying, whether airplanes, brooms, Thestrals, magic carpets, or giant flying sailing ships. Because of her fears, she had stayed belowdeck where the illusion they travelled on a ship was easier to maintain. Severus no doubt had believed she wouldn't come up to seek him here. Heights like this always made her queasy, because in her mind flying and falling were the same sensation.

He made her feel a little like that whenever she was around him, even as a young girl, even if in a very different way now. But now the two sensations, the cramping dread she'd felt filing into his classroom and the swooping butterfly feelings she'd had since becoming a colleague, felt fused into one, as if at the sharp drop of a roller coaster, at once thrill and terror.

He acted as if she weren't there, and oh, God, it was so hard not to fill the void in the pit of her stomach with her voice. But she'd found that when she babbled on it was easier for him to either ignore her or verbally cut her into little pieces from hair to toenails she felt would be suitable for potions ingredients.

"So, Professor Granger, did you take advantage of the presence of Beauxbatons' headmaster and Durmstrang's headmistress to offer your services? With your training and status you shouldn't find it hard to secure a new position."

"I told you, I don't want to leave Britain—or did you hear a word I said after handing in my notice?"

"No need. Your future is none of my concern."

"Are you really that thick?"

He loomed over her then, leaning towards her so their noses were inches apart. Not touching, he never touched. "Until the term ends I'm still your employer, and you will treat me—"

"As is appropriate. Seven years as your student, three years as your apprentice, three more as professor to your headmaster, and you said it yourself when Gregorovich made his obscene little insinuations: You don't take advantage. What if I bloody don't want appropriate?"

He jerked back then, his head tucked in slightly so his hair swung over his face, hiding him.

She sighed. "Years as a spy—judging tone of voice, expression, words—let alone being a Legilimens, don't tell me you didn't guess I—" She reached out to cup his cheek but his hand whipped out and grasped her wrist, stopping her.

"What would you have had me do? Press my attentions on you whilst your employment depended on my goodwill? Sack you so I could court you?" He gave a bitter laugh. "As it is, I straightened my teeth, did something about my hair, and I got Hooch on my back wondering if the next sign of my 'mid-life' crisis would be to woo the Potions Mistress I had so conveniently trained."

"Bugger Hooch!"

"I'd rather not, thank you." Seeming to just now notice how he was still holding her wrist—he'd begun to move his thumb in slow circles against her skin—he let go and grasped the rail.

"You would have just let me go if I'd said nothing."

"Yes, I'm the worst kind of coward. Happy to hear me admit it? That I don't measure up on the ultimate Gryffindor scale of merit? I didn't want this. Didn't want to feel this. Albus always said I didn't know how to do things by halves and—"

"It's different when the other person loves you too. It doesn't have to hurt." She laid her hand over his.

"I wouldn't know."

"Get used to it."

Slowly he wound their fingers together and she began to hope.

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**renitaleandra** - Prompt 1: Snape and Hermione, who are both teaching at Hogwarts, have to travel somewhere together. They've known each other as colleagues for at least a few years and they have decent a working relationship whenever the other needs advice. While they are traveling together, they are put into the most awkward of circumstances and by the end of the tale they should be going back to Hogwarts as more than just "colleagues". 


	2. Stripped Bare

**Stripped Bare**

Severus heard a staccato beat and a tenor crooning, "If you want my body …" That was his signal to pop out of the cake, so he Apparated out to the sound of squeals and claps.

Cruciatus wasn't painful enough to get back at Ginevra Potter for this, the Killing Curse too merciful. Leave it to a Potter to humiliate him by forcing him to strip down to his underwear. She'd provided him with a strip of cloth to tie his hair back with and a thong not much bigger. Both red—with gold sparkles.

It was use the thong or the 'full monty.' Or he could not strip at all—and Hermione would receive the letter Ginevra had tricked him into writing. She had slipped onto his desk a seemingly innocent leaf of parchment from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes that was enchanted to elicit your true feelings for the person addressed on the paper, in every hand-written word. As soon as he'd looked down on his desk, his gaze had been drawn to the parchment and he'd been compelled to start writing. The moment he'd lifted his quill after signing it, Ginevra had Accio'd the parchment, bringing it to her hand.

He could strip. Or be really naked.

He had taken the thong.

When he saw the dozen women gathered around the settee—the female contingent of Dumbledore's Army—and especially the woman seated at their centre, he had to bite down on an impulse to Apparate right back home. He was at Grimmauld Place. Of course, it was Hermione's twenty-first birthday—this was for her.

He could blame it on a Pavlovian response to the music, which he had practiced to, determined that if he had to bloody do this, he'd do it right. He could blame it on that while Luna blinked owlishly at him, Lavender gasped, and others sat or stood frozen in shock once they recognised him by his habitual garb, Hermione stood up and walked towards him, her smile coaxing him on.

He wasn't sure what part of his brain took over, but he was moving, slowly unbuttoning his high collar, strutting towards her with every bit of focus he put into duelling. He didn't know what the rest of the silly girls were doing anymore as he gyrated his pelvis and thrust his hips forward. He only saw Hermione staring at him, lips half parted, one hand raised as if she were going to touch him, and he shimmied out of reach, unbuttoning as he went, then slipped out of the frockcoat and threw it into her arms. Heat flared throughout his body when she buried her nose into the garment, breathing in his scent.

She tied his frockcoat about her waist, a black band bisecting her blue gown. He dipped and swayed and she mirrored him, drawing closer and closer, making the striptease a dance, as if she were the snake and he the snake charmer.

Watching her closely, he slowly pulled his shirt out from his trousers. He heard her sighs change to heavy breathing as she licked her lips. He felt a moment's self-consciousness when it came to peeling down the last cloth barrier between those brown eyes and his bare chest. There was at least no middle-age paunch to worry about, but plenty of scar tissue to evoke horror and pity. Covering up his trepidation with a predatory grin, he let the shirt hang out to his sides, exposing a strip of skin from collarbone to navel and evoking another appreciative sigh—and a sharp wolf-whistle to his right.

That broke the spell and they both stood still. Then staring right at him, Hermione cleared her throat and said, "I love my gift, Ginny, but I really think the rest of you should leave now, because I want to unwrap the rest in private."

"Spoil sport," one of the Patil twins called out.

"It's a crime what those teacher's robes were hiding," Angelina Johnson said, a purr in her voice that made him want to reach for his wand.

Tomorrow he'd track them down and cast an itching spell on each of them, but for now his focus was only on Hermione as the gaggle of females passed by him, chattering and giggling. Ginevra tugged at his sleeve. "You'll thank me for this someday," she said.

"Not bloody likely," he muttered.

"You should," Hermione said when they were the only ones left. "She only did this for me. After she slipped me that truth parchment with your name at the top." Hermione held out two slips of paper. "You're slipping, you know. She promised to return this to you, but not that she wouldn't show me first."

"Oh, God."

"Quite. Well, only fair—you get to see mine too."

He grabbed it from her fingers and started reading—he might even have got to the end—but it was hard when she leaned so close that her eyelashes fluttered against his cheek. And it became rather impossible when she kissed him, her warm hands sliding under his open shirt and trailing up his bare back.

He'd finish reading later.

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**refrainofdreams** - Prompt: SSHG, of course. Snape gets blackmailed into being a jump-out-of-cake-stripper for someone for their birthday, and doesn't know who. It ends up being Hermione on her 21st. All other details are up to you. 


	3. Ways to Charm

**Ways to Charm**

Hermione woke on the morning after and stretched languidly. Only when she saw that Severus had already risen from the bed did she give in to a wide grin and soft laughter. She felt like rolling around and throwing up her feet like a child. Her giddy mood had nothing to do with them being on holiday. Severus had been … wonderful. But then her problems with Ron had never been in the bedroom, once she'd trained him right.

Hermione had first thrown herself into Ron's arms and kissed him because he had said he cared about the house-elves. Months later she had found his copy of _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_ wedged between_ Quidditch Through The Ages_ and his old texts, possibly the only books Ron Weasley had ever owned—or wanted to. When she had come to way number five, it had read, "Agree with and promote your witch's pet causes" and suddenly she had understood why Ron had become so nice to her, whilst never really being kind. At least not if kindness meant him giving up Quidditch for her birthday or pub crawling with the boys on weekends or so much as picking up his socks.

The story of their first kiss had been honed and polished by her like a stone worn smooth from constant rubbing—her touchstone, her worry bead, her rosary—whenever Ron would frustrate her. She would tell herself he was sweet and that he cared and that boys after all didn't mature as fast. She would blame herself when their disagreements came to screams and sulks—after all Ron was trying, he was growing. She just hadn't known what he had been "trying" on her.

With one glance at a book her sweetest memory had become a leaden weight to toss away. She should perhaps have been warned that Ron's words had so thrilled her, leading to that kiss. Exactly because the reaction had come from hearing words so out of character for Ron as to be reason to suspect Polyjuice.

The difference with Severus was that whilst she and Ron had bickered, Severus and she argued. It was the difference between continually being hit by a Bludger and what she imagined was the thrill Harry felt in chasing after the snitch. Ron would get this stubborn look on his face and not budge from his point, or a crafty look and just concede (Rule Number Six: "Never argue with your witch, especially if it's her moon time"). If Severus never conceded without debating every last point, he at least always allowed her to pursue her line of argument unimpeded.

The first time she and Severus had kissed was after one of those arguments which ended up with books pulled out of shelves, fingers pointed at pages, computations on parchments, and finally finishing in the laboratory, each making a different brew. It turned out she had been right to think wormwood would stabilise Strengthening Potion, but Severus had been right to think that to compensate you'd have to extend the brewing time. She had thrown herself into his arms, but he at least had started the kiss—firm, but far too brief.

So here she was now trying again, gone off on holiday to Wiltshire, sharing a cottage with a wizard who she could be sure wouldn't condescend to be "nice," lying in bed and knowing that whatever took place there couldn't be enough.

Hearing the sound of water running, she climbed out of bed and padded over to join Severus in the bathroom.

As soon as she approached the sink, Hermione saw Severus raising the straight razor to his lathered cheek. Yesterday, when Hermione had first seen Severus using his blade, she had itched to snatch it away. The mirror they shared had reflected his amused glint at her reaction. Then he had nicked himself. The sight of the blood running down his neck had brought back to her a much stronger, meatier smell, and the image of him lying on the Shrieking Shack floor.

She averted her eyes and grabbed her toothbrush. She smeared toothpaste onto her toothbrush, brushing vigorously, letting the mint drive away the imagined odour of his blood. When she glanced back up, she saw the sleek edge of the blade scrape away bristles and lather, revealing a length of puffy white scar tissue in the stretch of bared throat.

His smirk finally goaded her into speech.

"You enjoy making me squirm, don't you?"

An odd look flickered over his face and he stilled a moment then rinsed the lather off the blade. "I rather enjoy speculating why it bothers you so much, and wondering when you would say something. Is it the sight of a dangerous weapon in my hands?"

"Rather it's seeing something so sharp at your throat."

"Ah."

She waited for a mulish look to cross his face, for him to tell her she was a silly little girl and he'd do as he pleased.

The next day, the blade was gone, a safety razor in its place.

She later joked to Ginny that she fell in love with Severus for his book collection, but truth to tell, it had more to do with learning that even if Severus wasn't "nice," he could be kind.

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**silburygirl** - Prompt: SSHG 1) A moment of epiphany, where they suddenly seem to come together. 2) A silly, apparently trivial relationship moment where their closeness is obvious. 

I combined the prompts.


	4. One Ring to Bind Him

**One Ring to Bind Him**

Sometimes Severus thought he'd suffocate with the weight of the manure shovelled his way after the end of the war. He was supposed to have been buried six feet under or inside the masonry of Azkaban, not get an offer to continue as Headmaster. There were even rumours of an Order of Merlin for him. He hated Harry Potter for that, for scrubbing away all the soot covering him from the war, shining him up. Almost as much as he hated Hermione Granger for going back for him in the Shrieking Shack and saving him.

When he entered the room her mother had shown him to, Hermione barely nodded at him from where she bent over a worktable, scoring patterns with a lattice into what looked like a sheet of clay. On a shelf beside the door were displayed rings, pendants and earrings, mostly in silver. Donning dragonhide gloves, she moved to a kiln and removed a tray with silver pendants and placed them on the counter next to it, then sat down at the worktable and began burnishing a ring.

He moved to her and looked closely, his eyes narrowing at the runes inscribed on the ring and murmured to himself, "One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all …"

"… And in the darkness bind them. In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie," Hermione said, completing the quote. "I wouldn't have taken you for a Tolkien fan."

"I was raised among Muggles, Miss Granger. Don't take me for a Weasley."

"Never." Her lips quirked briefly, an expression that seemed to say, I'd give you a full smile, but I know you'd just scowl at me. He'd seen that expression often when recovering. "In any case," she said, "this is just a hobby of mine, jewellery-making, hardly anything danger—"

"On the contrary, Miss Granger, don't be dense. You're a witch." He crossed his arms and peered down on her. "If I gave your mother all the ingredients for Polyjuice, and directed her in every step, what would she get?"

"A bloody mess."

"Exactly so. Contrastingly, any craft done by a witch or wizard—knitting, weaving, metallurgy—has magical potential. You're playing with something dangerous by adding runes to these. Did you just think they'd make them pretty? Have you given any of these away?"

"Not yet. I suppose you came here to turn down my proposal."

"Oh, yes, your proposal to start a post-graduate course of study at Hogwarts. Want an opportunity to be a perpetual schoolgirl, do you?"

"Beauxbatons is starting such a programme—so is the Salem Institute. There's a need for a sort of university-level wizarding education. I don't think I'm being unreasonable—unless it's just any proposal from me you'd reject out of hand."

He tapped his lips with a finger. "I admit rejecting you has its allure. But actually you'll need to direct your proposal to Headmistress McGonagall—I don't intend to remain at Hogwarts. I'm just here to ask for my old Potions book back. The Brat-That-Lived-Twice told me you had recovered it from the Room of Requirement."

"Oh. Oh, all right." She went to a drawer and pulled out his book, then rose on tiptoe and took down one of the rings. "I made this with you in mind."

She put it into his palm, where the silver seemed to burn into him. Runes for health and long life were inscribed around the outside.

"Trying to curse me?"

She shook her head and curled his fingers around the ring, covering his hand with both of hers. "It wouldn't be such a curse, if you'd just …" Her hands tightened on his, as if wanting to impress her wishes on his flesh like the patterns on her clay. She stared at him, bit her lip, then shook her head slowly. "Oh, never mind, you're impossible. Where will you go?"

He meant to tell her as far away as he could get from the lot of them. He intended to hurl the ring across the room. Instead, he said softly, "I don't know." He disengaged his hand from hers. "I can't accept this."

"Won't. Harry wants—"

"I don't bloody care—"

"To know you better, the friend of his mother, and I want to know the man who grew from the boy—the absolutely brilliant boy—of that book. Please, don't disappear."

"You're playing with a very dangerous toy with this new hobby of yours, Miss Granger—"

"Hermione."

"Fortunately, I do have some books on artificing and magical metallurgy. Even one on runes and their effects on same …"

"I'd love to borrow them. And discuss them with you. Perhaps over lunch."

He looked at her a long moment, then put the ring on his finger. "Perhaps."

The smile she gave him made him feel … lighter.

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**lifeasanamazon** - Prompt: Hermione, somewhat battered by her experiences, finds an unexpected talent in something practical - maybe something unusual like forging metal - and immerses herself in her work (with the full support of Harry and Ron). She makes something that catches Snape's eye. Is it worth giving up his customary truculence for? Can he learn how to make and keep a friend? 


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